Page 28 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Twenty-Six

Rose

The thing about pretending to give a shit about Magical Theory at eight in the morning is that you have to commit to the performance.

I slide into my usual seat, third row back, far enough from Professor Winn to avoid direct questions, and my bag drops to the floor with a thud that makes the witch in front of me jump.

Through the classroom window, I catch a glimpse of movement.

Lucien of course, stalking from over by the oak tree, probably thinking he’s subtle.

He’s been following me all week, ever since our delightful conversation in my room about how he’s basically documenting my every breath for the Coven.

The vampire thinks he’s being discrete, but I’ve started watching him right back, and now I know his patterns.

Morning classes, he watches from outside.

Afternoon sessions, he lurks in the hallways.

Evening study time, he materializes in the library stacks like some brooding Gothic novel character who got lost on his way to a Bronte convention.

Today, though, I have plans that don’t involve being watched like a lab rat.

Professor Winn starts explaining the theoretical applications of channeling magic through charged implements, which is actually kind of interesting, and for a brief moment I’m sorry to miss this lecture.

More important things to be done, however.

I pull out my notebook, making a show of taking notes while actually sketching the academy’s floor plan from memory.

I have no friends here, not unless you count Drake, and he’s not exactly around all the time, so I’ve had a lot of downtime to wander and explore when I’m not in class and on the weekends.

I know every hall, every shortcut, every building, and every room in it.

The bloodmark on my arm throbs, a reminder that the clock is ticking.

Two years might sound like forever when you’re twenty-one and you can’t wait to start your adult life, but when it’s all you’ve got left, it feels very very short, and every second counts.

Drake’s words from last night are still in my head, and I know I have to find the original blood oath, the real one.

Like that’s something you can just Google.

He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me how to start looking. But I have some ideas.

Twenty minutes into class, I see my opportunity.

I slip out and head for the door. And Lucien?

He won’t even know because I’ve learned a little trick to keep a vampire from being able to sense my presence.

My time reading in the library was actually quite productive, and it seems I’m not the first witch to have a problem with an overbearing vampire.

I duck into an empty classroom two doors down.

The window is already cracked open, I made sure of that yesterday during my regular stroll after supper.

The drop to the ground is maybe eight feet, nothing I can’t handle.

I didn’t want to just meander my way through the halls because that would give too many people too many chances to see where I’m going.

Overkill? Maybe. But excess seems warranted in my situation.

I’m halfway out the window when I feel it, that prickle on the back of my neck that means Lucien’s vampire senses have picked up that something’s wrong. Shit. I need to move faster.

My boots hit the ground with a soft thud, and I press myself against the building’s stone wall. From here, I can see Lucien still standing by the oak tree, but his posture has changed. His head tilts, listening. In about thirty seconds, he’s going to realize I’m not in that classroom anymore.

That’s when the explosion happens.

Not a real explosion, Drake’s more subtle than that.

But every window in the east dormitory suddenly blasts open, and what looks like a thousand sheets of paper come flying out, swirling in a supernatural wind that shouldn’t exist on this calm morning.

I can hear the screaming from here, mostly surprise rather than terror, and see students scrambling at the windows trying to catch their essays and homework before they disappear into the stratosphere.

Lucien’s head snaps toward the commotion, and I see him take a step in that direction before stopping, clearly torn between investigating the chaos and maintaining his Rose-watch.

Sorry, dude. Bet you’re gonna get in trouble for letting me give you the slip.

Wickersly emerges from the administrative building like an avenging angel in sensible heels, her usually perfect hair whipping in the magical wind. She storms toward the dormitory, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lucien follows.

I wait until they’re both out of sight before I move, keeping to the edges of the building.

The administrative wing is usually crawling with faculty, but Drake assured me he’d handle that too.

Sure enough, as I approach, I see Mrs. Bright hurrying toward the dormitory, followed by two other staff members I don’t recognize.

The hallway is empty when I slip inside. My heart hammers against my ribs, but it’s not entirely fear. There’s something thrilling about this, about taking control instead of waiting for the Coven and their bloody contract to decide my fate.

Drake materializes beside me as I reach Wickersly’s office door, more solid than usual but still translucent enough that I can see the walls through his chest.

“Nice distraction,” I whisper.

He grins, and for a second, I flash back to last night, to his tongue on my nipples, him inside me, completely solid and real. My cheeks heat, and I look away.

“Stay focused,” he says. “She’ll figure out it’s a diversion soon enough.”

The lock on Wickersly’s door is old-fashioned, and unfortunately I didn’t bring my lock picking tools with me to school. But that’s why Drake is here. He walks right through the door, and I hear a click.

Drake returns to keep watch while I slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.

I start with the desk because if I were hiding important documents, that’s where I’d keep them, close enough to reference but secure enough that casual snooping wouldn’t find them.

The top drawer is locked, but it’s a simple device that takes me less than ten seconds to pop open, nothing magical about it.

Inside, there’s correspondence, mostly boring administrative stuff about supply orders and student disciplinary actions.

One letter catches my eye—it’s from Helena Wickersly, who I remember from the handbook is Headmistress Wickersly’s sister.

The handwriting is so perfect it looks printed, all flowing curves and dramatic flourishes.

“The bloodlines must be maintained,” it reads. “Ensure proper containment protocols are in place.”

Containment. Fun.

Fuck that. I photograph it with my phone, then keep searching.

The second drawer has financial records, and to no one’s surprise, the academy’s endowment could probably buy a small country. The third drawer is more interesting, ritual components in carefully labeled vials. Dried herbs, crystals, bones, human hair, and baby teeth. I shudder.

“Hurry,” Drake says from his position by the door.

I move to the filing cabinet, fingers flying through folders labeled with dates going back centuries. Most of it’s not useful, but then something stops me. Records of students who were bloodmarked, their years of service, their contributions to the Coven’s power.

Their death dates.

Every single one of them, documented like inventory. Sarah Bishington, 1897-1899, contributed significant earth magic reserves. Thomas Ashford, 1923-1925, source of refined fire manipulation. The list goes on and on, each name representing someone who was used up and discarded.

Then I find it, in its own folder. It’s a map of the academy, but not the academy I know. This one shows additional rooms, passages, an entire wing that doesn’t exist. Or at least, that I’ve never seen in all my wandering.

One area is labeled in red ink. “First Accord. Absolute security.”

My hands shake as I photograph the map. This is it.

This is what Drake was talking about. The original blood oath has to be in this place, whatever that is.

But looking at the map, the location should be right where part of the flower garden is now.

I’ve walked through that garden dozens of times. There’s nothing there.

“Rose,” Drake’s voice is urgent now. “She’s coming back. Now.”

I hear it too, the sharp click of Wickersly’s heels in the hallway, getting closer. But there’s another voice with her, smooth and amused.

Soren.

“I’m simply saying,” Soren’s voice carries through the door, “that perhaps the incident was more prank than threat. Students will be students, after all.”

“Students don’t typically have the power to create atmospheric disturbances of that magnitude,” Wickersly replies, and she sounds seriously pissed. “Someone helped them. Someone with significant magical ability.”

“Go,” I whisper to Drake. I have no idea what Wickersly could or would do to him if she catches him here, but this is my fight and I don’t want him to get caught in the crossfire. The guy is already dead, he’s suffered enough.

They’re right outside the door now. I shove the map back where I found it, softly close the filing cabinet shut, and look around wildly for somewhere to hide. The closet? Too obvious. Under the desk? Too exposed. Behind the curtains? Too stupid.

The door handle turns.

There’s no time. The door is opening, and I’m standing in the middle of Wickersly’s office like an idiot with my phone in my hand. Welp. Guess I won’t have to worry about surviving for the next two years, because she’s going to kill me right now.

That’s when Soren’s voice gets louder, more insistent. “Actually, Headmistress, I’ve just remembered something urgent regarding the Smith situation.”

The door stops opening, just a crack visible.

“What about Miss Smith?” Wickersly’s voice could freeze hell.

“She’s missed her appointment with me this morning. For her additional shielding practice. After the fountain incident, I’m concerned about her stability. Perhaps she should be located immediately?

“Lucien is keeping an eye on Miss Smith.” The door starts opening again.

Soren snorts. “Then he’s doing a terrible job, because I saw him follow you to the dorms and Rose Smith was not there.”

There’s a pause that lasts approximately forever. I hold my breath, pressed against the wall beside a bookshelf. My ass suddenly feels enormous as I try to make myself as small and hidden as possible.

“Fine,” Wickersly says finally. “But I want a full report on her progress. These surges are becoming problematic.”

“Of course,” Soren purrs. “I’ll handle her personally.”

The innuendo in his voice is thick enough to spread on toast, but Wickersly either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. I hear her keys jingle as she continues opening the door.

That’s when Soren does something I don’t expect. There’s a crash from down the hallway, the sound of something breaking spectacularly.

“What now?” Wickersly snaps, and I hear her heels clicking away rapidly toward the sound.

The door swings open, and Soren stands there, looking directly at where I’m frozen against the wall. He doesn’t look surprised. The bastard knew I was here the whole time.

“Out,” he says quietly. “Now.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I bolt from the office, making it around the corner before Soren catches up. He cages me against the wall, one hand pressed against the stone beside my head, and leans in close, his mouth hovering inches from mine.

“Breaking into the Headmistress’s office?” His black eyes glitter with amusement. “That’s bold, even for you. What were you looking for?”

“None of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business.” His fingers trail down the wall beside my face, not quite touching but close enough. “Especially when you’re taking risks that could get you killed. Or worse.”

“Worse than killed?”

“Oh, darling.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Death is a mercy compared to what the Coven does to people who betray them. Ask your ghostly friend.”

“Why do you care?”

He leans in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear. “Because despite what you think, I don’t want to see you destroyed. You’re far too interesting alive.”

“How touching,” I manage, trying to ignore the way my body responds to his nearness.

He pulls back, studying my face. “The Headmistress will know someone was in her office. She’s not stupid. But she won’t suspect you if you’re smart about it.” He straightens his shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “You owe me now, Rose. And I always collect my debts.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” he agrees. “But you needed it anyway.” He starts walking away, then pauses. “Whatever you’re planning, whatever you think you’ve discovered, be careful. The academy has secrets that are better left buried.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me pressed against the wall with my heart still pounding.

I think about the map, about the chamber that should exist but doesn’t, about the original Accord hidden somewhere in this maze of lies and magic.

Time to get to work.